Page 91 of For One Night

***

I step off the elevator looking toward his office, but the lights are out. I check my watch. I’m early, maybe that’s why they’re still out. I get to work, forgetting the time. When I don’t hear anything, I go in search.

I open my door to find the lights are still out in his office. “This isn’t good.” I walk over to Alice. “Hey, he’s still not in?”

She sighs. “He sent me a text, says he’s still not feeling well. I thought about calling Lachlan, but I’m not sure I should.”

“Do you have his address?” I don’t want Lachlan involved when this very well may be my fault.

Her eyes flicker to the computer and back. “I do, are you going to check on him?”

“Yeah, take him some chicken noodle soup or something.” I’m going to kick his ass, that’s what I’m going to do.

She slides me a piece of paper, grinning. “Here you go, Miss Turner.”

“Alice, call me Lola, please.” I wink at her.

Her smile grow wider. “Will do. Lennox doesn’t like Mister Daly either.”

“Thank you.” I hold the address and run to grab my purse.

I hurry from the building, jump in my car, and get on the road. Turns out, he’s not far my place, so I have the perfect thing to take him. I swing by my place, gathering everything before going to him.

Turning into his drive, I’m struck by his home. It isn’t pretentious or extraordinary, it’s a home. One for a family, not a bachelor, especially a rich one. There’re no vehicles, so I’m not even sure he’s home, but I take my chances.

I walk around to the passenger side and take the cooler and bag out I brought with me. I stare up at the house, trying to decide if this is a good idea or the second biggest mistake I’ve made recently.

I make my way to the door, ring the bell, and wait. After a few minutes, I hear nothing. So I ring it and begin to knock. Still nothing. “I’ll be damned.” I hammer on the door with my fist until I hear someone yelling.

“I’m coming!” I step back, ready for anything. He opens the door in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. Holy mother of god. “Uh, hey.”

“Hello.” I walk past him as he gapes at me.

“What are you doing?”

“I hear you’re sick, so I’m here to feed you.”

He stands with his hands on hips. “I don’t want it.”

“I didn’t say you wanted it.” I peer around the corner. “Oh, here we go.”

“Excuse me, where are you going?” He’s hot on my heels.

I place the cooler on the floor and the bag on the counter. “Pots? pans?”

“No, I want you to leave.” He crosses his arms, which only serve to ramp up every indecent thought I’ve already had today about him, when his muscles flex.

“Fine, I’ll find them myself.” I start opening cabinets, searching them.

He walks over, standing between me and them. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I don’t want you here. Please leave.”

“I don’t care what you want. I’m cooking and I’m not leaving until we talk.”

“No.” He leans in, getting my face, as if he’s going to intimidate me.

I narrow my eyes. This means war. I inch closer to him, squeezing between him and the counter. Tiptoeing, I check the upper cabinets and find plates. I take a couple down. As I turn to place them on the counter, I brush against him.

“Excuse me.” If he’s going to stand here, sexier than hell, I’m going to ride every part of his body I can. I have a great memory, and he’s a helluva ride.